


The Odd Couple: Shanks & Robs

by SweetPemberley28



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Aliases, F/M, Jealousy, Not What It Looks Like, Ploy, Pretend couple, Theft, Undercover as a Couple, fake couple, stolen car
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPemberley28/pseuds/SweetPemberley28
Summary: Couldn't resist a story where Shanker and Robin go undercover as a married couple.Can Strike handle this fake love triangle? Maybe this will be enough for him to finally tell Robin how he feels? Only one way to find out!A spin-off from a Striketober 2020 Prompt"What's in it for me?"
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott & Shanker, Robin Ellacott & Shanker & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike, Shanker & Cormoran Strike, Shanker/Alyssa Vincent
Comments: 24
Kudos: 40





	1. The Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> This WIP has been festering for over 6 weeks, but I'm kinda glad as a few new ideas sprang to mine so I'm ready to start sharing this new chaptered story. 
> 
> Smut-free, but with snogging-potential! Includes Strike/Shanker type of language.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Did Shanker give any details in his request?” Robin prodded Strike as they made their way to White Chapel via the Tube.

“Only said he had a proposition that requires your assistance specifically,” Strike shrugged as they sat. “He’s not stupid enough to compromise either your safety or the agency, but still…”

He trailed off as he glanced around, sizing up nearby passengers as a potential threat, as he always did when Robin accompanied him. 

She didn’t notice as she tried to guess how she was to help Shanker. On one hand, it pleased her to be requested instead of Strike; on the other hand, there wasn’t much she’d be willing to do in Shanker’s world, especially when Strike had a say in the matter. 

On the little information she had to go by of his childhood friend’s endeavors, they seemed to primarily involve theft, drugs, gambling, and an endless list of other illegal activities. 

Since he met Alyssa, he had been doing his best to clean up his act as best he could, but the kind of life he led isn’t one you just sweep under the rug and go on your merry way.

Strike was right though; Shanker wouldn’t ask her to do something that far out from her comfort zone.

Carefully, she glanced at Strike before asking, “You didn’t promise him anything, did you?” 

“Course not. It’s your decision. I doubt it’s anything…” Strike struggled to find the appropriate word, “…untoward. But I am curious.”

He grinned warmly at her before the mischief hit his eyes. “Might even be a bit of fun in it for me.”

“You? Fun? Who are you and what have you done with Cormoran Strike?” Robin raised an eyebrow above squinty eyes.

“I’m wounded, Ellacott,” he clutched his chest dramatically.

“I do kinda owe him one,” Robin mentioned thoughtfully, reflecting on how she had asked for his assistance without Strike’s knowledge or permission in regards to Brockbank.

Strike understood her reference and shook his head. “He met Alyssa from all that so you’ve been square. Even then, there wouldn’t be a debt.” 

Robin sighed and said no more, enjoying the remainder of the train ride in comfortable silence.

Once at their stop, Robin and Strike exited the station before strolling the few blocks to Shanker’s home turf, The Pour Luck Lounge, a billiard pub that provided discretion for underground deals and secret meetings. Shanker had wanted to name it the Piss Poor Luck Club but was vetoed by the city ordinance; so he affectionately referred to it as such in his circle.

*****

Shanker led the detectives to a private pool room that featured a TV perched in the corner, currently off, and two high top tables with bar stools. The detectives removed their coats and settled at one of the high tops while Shanker ordered drinks. 

As Shanker racked the balls, Charmise, his best waitress, brought in two pints for the lads and a glass of white wine for the lady. She closed the door behind her then Shanker offered the two with cue tables. Strike took one while Robin declined. 

After he broke the racked balls, Shanker explained his proposition.

A few minutes later, Strike leaned against the table as Shanker took his turn.

“You want Robin to pose as your wife,” he repeated incredulously. 

“That’s the part you have a problem with?” Robin questioned the senior partner who avoided her eyes.

“It’s just playing pretend for a few hours. Bringing a wife makes me more respectable than a girlfriend or bringing me own damn cousin. My target is hosting a mixer at his house, a big to-do. I’ve already searched his car lot high and low, can’t find a trail to where he’s hiding all those stolen cars, including the one he stole from me.”

“Which you stole in the first place!” Strike reminded him with exasperation.

“Did not!” Shanker yelled and then calmed down as he addressed Robin, the more sensible of the two. “Won it fair and square in a bet over a pool game. This tosser didn’t like it so now he’s stolen it from under me. I think there’s more to it but I can’t get close to him.” 

“Can’t we just tail him for a bit and see where that leads?” Robin asked.

“Nah, tried that, too, on my own and with some of my best boys on it. To go beyond that, I need someone outside of this I trust explicitly. I don’t know how that fucker does it, but he’s clean as a whistle in appearance. Can’t tap his phones and his security system is top of the line. This is my best bet to gain access to his home office. That shady fuck stole my prized possession, but I need a lead and a plus-one,” Shanker explained.

“Use Alyssa as your plus-one,” Strike proposed before sinking a ball of his own.

“Nah, mate, can’t be asking my girl for this. You know you can’t bring home along to work, and I don’t want her involved. Besides, I need someone professional and that’s your Robs.”

Robin’s cheeks flushed by the possessive term of endearment in addition to being amused by the men negotiating over her; Strike seemingly having forgotten her presence entirely.

“She and I have interviewed plenty of suspects together before, some under the guise as a couple, why can’t it be the two of us?”

Shanked expected this line of questioning.

“These people may be posh, but most of them are just as dirty as the host. I know their faces, names, rap sheets, and covers...you don’t. All sorts are going to be there, but the more polished they are, the shadier their deals. And I don’t have time to teach you a class on them all. It has to be me. I mean, just look at your burly self, and you’re recognizable nowadays.”

Strike focused on the felt of the pool table, hesitantly looking at Robin.

“Cormoran, I can pose as his wife,” she assured before muttering, “Certainly have the experience in playing one.”

Strike pursed his lips as she stared into her wine. “I’m not throwing you into the path of criminals.”

“It’s not like that, I swear, Bunsen. She knows fuck all about the guests, too, so there’s plausible deniability. I’m sure they’re not all bad, plus it’s during the goddamn afternoon in broad daylight. At least with me what you see is what you get, for the most part, but I can’t go on me own looking like—”

“You,” Strike quipped.

“Yeah, wise arse, _me_. That’s where Robs comes in to play to make me passable.”

“Ha!” Strike bellowed causing Robin to jump a little in her seat. “Maybe passable at an underground club with Becca and you went as…well, you.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?” Shanker asked looking between the two.

Robin snorted then imagined the pairing of Goth Becca and Thug Shanker.

“Excuse me, Mr. Strike, but I’d like to think you and your agency have much improved since the arrival of _‘your Robs.’_ ”

Shanker chuckled as he sank another ball into a side pocket. 

“She’s right, mate. You’re a lot less grumpy now,” earning another scowl from Strike. “Ok, maybe not to me, but in general.”

“That’s not what I meant and of course you have, and still do, it’s just…”

Strike frowned at her despite her friendly teasing, as best mates do, because she was right. Maybe he was allowing his personal feelings to decide as he once did before that led to her being sacked then married and then at arm’s length for nearly two years. He honestly couldn’t come up with a justifiable reason to deny her involvement in helping his friend. They had spied on an MP after all. 

Robin grabbed her phone and began a text. “I’ll ask Max to assist in sprucing our Shanks up. I’m sure he’ll do it for more guidance on his character since his show was renewed for another season.”

“I doubt his expertise could produce the desired transformation, but if Max can work that kind of magic on him —”

“Hey, wanker, I’m standing right here!” Shanker interjected, slightly offended, hitting another solid even though it wasn’t his turn. It ricocheted off the side, missing the intended pocket.

“—I’ll be at his disposal even if the show lasts a decade,” Strike promised as he moved the solid back to its original spot. “And you stole my turn.”

Setting down her phone she continued with her suggestions for the plan. “Once we’re inside and blended with the party, it would work better for me to search as a poor lost female is easier to forgive than a strange man.”

“You don’t know what to look for,” Shanker said.

“Then that’s the detail we should focus on rather than our sham of a marriage,” she stared at Strike. “Besides, it’s been a minute since Venetia’s come out to play and she’s a bit restless so this will be fun for her,” Robin winked at Strike a bit flirtatiously over the rim of her wine glass. 

Shanker looked dumbstruck, “Ok, I don’t know who these fucking women are but I need your help, Robin; it’s gotta be you, no one else.”

“It’s her aliases, ya daft git,” Strike enlightened as he tapped the last of the stripes into a corner pocket. 

“Don’t be a shit, Bunsen,” Shanker scoffed then looked at Robin. “So you’ll help me, yeah?”

“Yes, I will,” she replied.

Shanker and Robin looked at the big burly lump across the billiard for his blessing.

“My total faith in Robin’s abilities goes without saying, and I know how important this is to you so I’ll play along albeit grumpily.”

“So as per usual, got it,” Shanker added.

“First thing’s first: ground rules.” Robin hopped off her perch to stand face to face with the professional criminal.

“Name your terms,” he agreed as he leaned against his cue stick.

“One: boundaries. You can hold my hand, hug my shoulders, and kiss my cheek – only when necessary or instructed otherwise by me – but the rest of my body and any other physical act is off-limits. That’s non-negotiable.”

Shanker’s eyes widened and his hands went up, “Well, yeah, that goes without saying as I’d never, but I get it, loud and clear.”

“Two: Backstory. It needs to line up and on the same page. We are Robert and Venetia Hall, with you a business real estate entrepreneur and me a nurse, having met years ago at the A&E when you were mugged and attacked. That will explain your facial scar. We won’t be able to hide all the tattoos so those exposed are dedicated to your fallen comrades in the Afghan war.”

“You just think that up?” Shanker’s eyes glinted.

“Well, I had time while you two bickered like a man and his plus-one over a damsel,” she mused looking over her shoulder.

“Hey!” Strike objected.

“Ok, that’s good and easy. With that settled…” Shanker held out one hand towards Robin.

“Not quite,” Strike interrupted. “Three: What’s in it for me?”

Robin twisted for clarification, clearing her throat and lifting an eyebrow.

“Us.” Strike corrected as he made eye contact with her to see her satisfaction then contemplated his childhood friend. “What’s in it for us?”

“Other than her being in public with someone other than your grumpy arse for a change, I’ll give you two freebies for the Met in your favor. That would set us right.”

“Three,” Strike immediately counteracted. His partner was well worth dozens of return favors, but he knew he was already pushing it.

“Three?”

“Take it or leave it,” Strike sank the 8-ball into a corner pocket, winning the game.

Shanker’s smile revealed his gold tooth, “Deal.”

He and Robs shook on it as Strike stood spectating at the willing odd couple.


	2. The Makeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter focused on Shanker's transformation and Strike squirming with watching his partner partner up with another partner.

Max had readily agreed to Robin’s request to dress Shanker, aka Robert, in exchange for Strike being at his disposal with military insight, crucial for his current acting role. Luckily, his good friend in wardrobe permitted the borrowing of clothing for the use of his swanky house for an on-location photoshoot. Swapping favors was easily becoming a second profession.

Before being shushed out of her bathroom, Robin had given Max a general sense of how Robert should be presented. 

“Leave it to me, doll, your faux man will do you proud!”

She was set to go in her fitted blue dress with a black belt situated at her waist providing a streamline to her curves while hiding what she considered to be her little pouch of a belly. While she was happy to be eating regularly without strain or guilt – she kept busy hours and stayed active – she was still slightly self-conscious about her weight gain since the divorce.

Her hair was pulled halfway up, the rest falling in waves down her shoulders, with glints of gold at her ears and her signature necklace resting against her collarbone. She’d just put on her heels when a knock came from the front door, sending Wolfgang into a frenzy of barks as he circled.

Checking the peephole she viewed Strike on the other side and quickly opened it.

“Afraid of a little competition?”

It took a moment for him to register the question as he was simultaneously taken aback by how amazing she looked and smelled, her updated signature of Narciso, the combination rendering him momentarily dazed. 

“Cormoran, I’m teasing,” she blushed with a small chuckle as if she could find a better partner than the one who stood before her. Her chuckle brought him out of the trance he wandered into more often than not lately whenever he was in her presence, a fact that was getting harder to ignore with each passing day.

“So far you take the lead in looking passable,” he finally said.

She laughed louder and stepped aside to let him in, Wolfgang sniffing about his feet while wagging his tail. 

“What does bring you here? Did I forget something for Operation Odd Couple?” She wondered, going over the plan for the umpteenth time today.

“Are you kidding? Losing my other foot couldn’t keep me away from Shanker’s supposed passable debut!”

“Well then, make yourself comfortable as Max is still working his magic.”

Strike stepped towards the couch, side glancing at Robin who made her way to the kitchen.

“He could’ve started two weeks ago and it still wouldn’t be enough time,” he grumbled as he made a spot on the couch, offering the pooch a few rubs on the ears who refused to be deterred by Strike’s scowl. 

“Oh, hush, it’s going to be fine. Would you like a drink?”

“No. I have a little more surveillance work after I see you two lovebirds off.”

Robin’s brow furrowed, trying to recall the rota having scheduled surveillance, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps he had some personal business he didn’t want to discuss. 

_Oh, God,_ Robin thought. _Was he going on a date?_

“Last minute finale for Trifecta,” he offered, seeing her lost in thought, using the cover of a client who had habitually demanded last-minute acts and nicknamed for being on her third husband in as many years. 

“Ah, I’ll be pleased when that one’s done,” she confessed. He looked at her silently detecting a sense of relief. “Yeah, I know, steady flow of income, but she’s the problem, not the husbands. It’s just self-indulgence.”

She rolled her shoulders as if shaking off a nagging sensation. Strike’s mouth opened, but then a peppy Max appeared with a huge grin plastered on his face.

“Lords and Lady,” he spotted his fur pal on the couch next to Strike, “and of course, Sir Wolfgang, may I present your escort for the evening, Mr. Robert Hall!”

He threw his arms out wide, hands waggling as if presenting the next act at a circus when Shank— _er_ —Robert appeared. 

Robin’s jaw dropped as she slowly clapped in approval. Shanker was sporting a cream turtleneck under a navy blue smoking jacket with trousers to match. His black shoes shined in the lamplight and his beard was nicely groomed, his short hair freshly trimmed. 

“Bloody hell.” Strike had never seen Shanker look so…average and clean. It freaked him out a bit as if his childhood friend had been replaced with the good twin who bathed and owned a dress shirt.

“Am I a genius or am I a _genius_?” Max rhetorically asked in immense pride.

“Fucking magician,” Strike expelled.

“Tell me this ain’t fucking passable, eh?” Shanker grinned as he turned and posed before wiggling the fingers on his left hand. “Even sporting a wedding band and all.”

“Well, you don’t look like a total tit,” Strike teased, shrugging then looked away unimpressed.

“Fuck off, mate, I look fucking fit, right Robs?” he opened his arms out wide towards Robin whose face scrunched.

“Oh, good it _is_ still you in there. Try to leave the ‘fucks’ out to maintain the illusion of gentile respectability whilst in the presence of the posh,” Strike suggested then focused on Robin’s reaction.

“Sure,” Shanker gritted out then followed his gaze to Robin’s face. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that,” she hesitated, glancing at Strike who gave a supporting nod. “It’s just…you called me Robs and well Matthew called me that and...”

Shanker took her hand and patted it. “Say no more, Robin. I didn’t mean no offense and don’t wanna irk ya by imitating that tosser.”

“You didn’t know, but come to think of it…” she trailed off and smiled fondly. “…it’s been quite some time since I’ve been called that and it’s time for a new association.”

Strike lifted an eyebrow waiting for her to explain.

“For the duration of this undercover job, I’d be delighted for us to be Shanks and Robs!”

“Oooh, now _there’s_ an idea for a new TV show duo!” Max clapped his hands and Wolfgang barked in agreement.

Strike rolled his eyes again.

“Hey, enough with the fucking eye rolls, mate, or I’m gonna roll your arse,” Shanker warned lightly.

“Roll my arse? Try not to threaten the other guests like that either,” Strike advised, clearly enjoying tormenting this improved version of the man before him.

“Probably best to leave most of the talking to me, Shanks,” Robin confirmed with a slight grin and a wink.

“Yeah, okay, mum and dad!” Shanker rolled his eyes, proclaiming his expected response when either of them directed him on his behavior.

“Overall, _Robert,_ you look quite dashing,” and with that compliment, she took her “husband’s” extended hand and moved in closer to kiss his cheek. 

“Thanks Robs, I mean, Venetia,” his freckles blushed beneath glinting eyes. Strike squirmed at this exchange oblivious to Max’s scrutiny who then leaned over into his line of sight to get his attention. 

“Do you love it or do you _love_ it?” 

Strike overdid it a bit with enthusiasm as he boasted, “Max, you are indeed a miracle worker, and I am hereby bound to keep my end of the bargain.”

“Oh, delightful!” he exclaimed clapping his hands. 

"Now, I must be off."

Strike lifted himself from the couch, scowling at _Robert_ as he made his way back to the front door. Even Wolfgang yelped a high-pitched growl in the imposter’s direction. 

"Take care of my partner, yeah," he ordered Shanker.

"It is my priority, well, next to getting me property back."

Strike shot him a warning look and Shanker threw up his hands.

"Yeah, mate, of course, goes without saying."

Robin hurried to meet Strike at the door and opened it.

“Thank you for coming by to see us off. It is a rather bit of a festive occasion,” she admitted with a twinkle in her eye in contrast to the dark expression of her partner. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

He shook his head and forced a half-smile.

“All good. Just not keen on being bored to death watching an innocent husband who does nothing wrong,” Strike sighed. “But as you know, it pays the bills.”

“Well, it’s not too late. I’m sure Max has a dress in your size if you want to pose as Shanker’s wife instead?” her eyes wiggled in mischief. His neutral face bothered her, but her continued smile masked it.

“Maybe next time. Just be careful and text an update as soon as you can,” he said walking down the stairs without a glance back at her.

“Always the professional,” Robin sighed to herself and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a kid, my mom use to tell me "roll your eyes and I'll roll your butt!" I still don't know what that means but I found a way to include that in the banter between Shanker and Striker. lol


	3. The Charade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shanks and Robs arrive at the Mark's party to commence their charade as husband and wife in finding a lead to Shanker's stolen property that he claims was rightfully won in a pool game. Robin's skills get tested thoroughly as hidden information comes to light.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's taken me a bit to get this finished and posted. Now that finals are over I have my brain back (mostly)! 
> 
> Should have the rest of the story posted by Christmas, if not shortly after. Enjoy!

As Strike made his way to his BMW he cursed himself for actually being green about the arrangement. 

_I don’t like this one bit,_ he thought as he plopped himself into the driver’s seat. Something nagged him beyond the annoyance of his partner posing as Shanker’s wife. While he trusted his childhood friend with his life for nearly three decades, he’d never given him the chance at being entrusted with the one thing he held dearer than anything in this world.

With a sigh, he leaned to start the car but stopped at the sound of a ping. He saw Robin’s name on the screen and opened the message immediately. Of course, what followed made him scowl; a picture of Robert and Venetia Hall as if posing for a school dance picture with a short message:

**What we do for our friends. Rx**

Strike relaxed a bit as he always did when seeing the “x” by her name. She was so beautiful in her modest yet elegant cream dress with splashes of large flowers the color of peaches. It accentuated the gloss of her lips and the hues of her golden-red hair, half up with the rest flowing freely around her neck and shoulders. He smiled further upon enhancing the photo until those genuine pools of blue-gray filled the screen. She was so kind, thoughtful, giving, and strong; all of which combined with her capability as a private investigator and independent woman made her the most beautiful creature he had ever been fortunate enough to be in the presence of. 

His best mate. 

He had admitted to himself that she was so much more than that to him. Yet pretend or not, he nearly snapped his phone in two at seeing Shanker’s arm around her.

_Get a grip,_ Strike scolded himself.

Both were ignorant to how he truly felt and so there was no blame to be cast; not even malice because, as was explained by Robin simply, this is what we do for our friends.

_So it is and this is what I do for my best mate._

He entered the address Shanker gave him in his GPS and made his way to the real mark.

*****

Shanker parked the black Porsche along the street about a block away to provide easier access to a getaway. It also ensured that Robin would not become aware they were under surveillance by a mutual friend due to a previously planned strategy. He hadn’t liked keeping that detail from her, but Strike had a way of convincing him to do just that, promising to take the flak for it later should she find out.

He enjoyed a quick cigarette and sent a quick text while Robin checked herself in the mirror then messaged Strike.

**Parked and heading in. – Rx**

She coolly exited the vehicle and smoothed down her dress to its hem at her knees. He stubbed the cig with this heel and they crossed the street to the sidewalk. With her clutch in one hand, she used the other to snake through her cohort’s arm, which he heartily accepted whilst keeping his hands to himself. 

They were husband and wife after all. 

Despite the choice of a lower heel, she still stood a few inches taller than he, and it made her miss her normal stance of looking up to see her large partner hover above her, and around her for his presence always enveloped her when they were close. A wispy smile crossed her lips at the comfort of that then took in the beaming sun and the spread of the neighborhood.

The small-scaled mansions looked recently built, a private and modern housing development, meant for the well-to-do upper-middle class. Streets were cleaned, high-end cars washed and waxed, glimmering in the sunlight in front of their garages; lawns freshly clipped and flowered, variations of cream and beige created the boring color palette of the exteriors. Everything smelled new.

_How droll,_ she thought.

“This neighborhood isn’t quite what I pictured given your description of our target. It’s a bit bland,” Robin commented.

“It is but the advantage is hiding in plain sight. Wouldn’t work for me though,” he chuckled. “My charm just makes me naturally stick out.”

“No doubt,” she mirrored his sideways grin.

“Give me a dimly lit grubby shithole over this beige monstrosity any day,” he mused, stretching his head side to side, cracking his neck. “It’s all I know and where I fit. I’m not afraid of the dingy underbelly.”

Robin shook the idea of such a place, tilting her chin up a bit in defiance to certain memories creeping at their edges. She wondered if she would ever learn to become immune to such reactions and then hoped not.

“Despite your self-described world as dingy, good can be found anywhere. Even in you,” she decided.

“Yeah, well, don’t spread that around. Remember, most of this group is just wolves dressed in posh clothing, Robs.”

They stopped at the foot of a curved drive that was already lined with enviable cars of party guests. “Ready _Venetia_?”

“Quite, _Robert,_ ” she squeezed his arm in reassurance before ascending the drive, passing a modest water fountain with spitting cherubs, and stepped onto the wide-open brick steps to the front entrance. To the right of the main house was an extension with four garage doors each having individual key codes and locks.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’s just waiting in there,” Venetia wondered.

“Doubt it, but taking a look won’t hurt. Will have to make the social rounds first,” he figured.

“Yes, of course, get a lay of the land,” she agreed. 

They hurried into the foyer revealing the interior color to be just as bland as the outside. The walls contained eclectic paintings, wood sculptures, and masks placed about sporadically. Random movie memorabilia featuring James Dean and Marilyn Monroe created a focal point in the large sitting area. The décor screamed bachelor to Venetia who took mental notes of this as they walked through to the double French doors opened to the majority of guests gathered across a sprawling lawn.

Guests stood around with drinks holding umbrellas, munching on nibbles being handpicked from a buffet table. The dress code was not as tasteful as Venetia expected which included tracksuits, clubwear, tattered jeans, gold chains. It was as tacky as plastic flamingos used as outdoor decorations. She and her partner stood out with their clothes as if arriving fresh from church.

The yard was the display of posh by comparison. It was a sprawling piece of greenery with flowered shrubberies alongside a solid privacy fence that featured a portable bar and wicker lounge sets comfortably arranged in shade or sun. The patio columns were adorned with large stone urns of white lilies – to which Venetia rolled her eyes. 

The gathering reminded her of the housewarming party she and Matthew had thrown, after they were married, in a rented house where she served all of Matthew’s friends from a silver platter. She even endured the private humiliation of also serving Strike and his then-girlfriend Lorelei in a grey dress that accentuated her feeling of being the hired help. 

They stepped down to the lawn and crossed to the portable bar which, thankfully, included a dedicated bartender. Robert ordered a whiskey and a white wine which they took then paced along taking in the environment, searching for their mark.

“Do you see him?” she asked over the glass rim.

“Not yet,” as his eyes continued scanning the small crowd.

One of the young guys lying by the pool removes a towel from over his head, lays it across his shoulders as he pulls himself up on the lounge chair. 

“But I do spot the shit who lost to me in that pool game.” He lifted his glass towards the direction of the pool area at the far end of the lawn.

It seemed to be the designated “kiddie” area except instead of kids and a ball pit there were college-aged youths and a pool. Dance music blared from speakers situated near the pool, the DJ wore bright flowered trunks, an opened shirt, and flip flops. Beer bottles clanked and shots were being taken, cigarettes being lit, and from the smell of it…a joint or two was being passed. 

“Which one?”

“The scrawny pale one with a black mop he’s passing on as hair,” he described with annoyance.

“You sure? He looks like a teenager,” she retorted.

“He’s old enough to have a beer or be a red cap; he’s on his own with the rest. I ain’t his bloody warden and guys like that have a lot to learn.”

“He is scrawny.” Once again she thought of Matthew and how she had come to learn that scrawny was not her type. Her type veered more towards the larger, hairier, more masculine…

A commotion knocked her mind off track from where it had wandered and she took a sip of her wine. Venetia had to blink several times to realize what was going on in the pool. Two college-aged girls sat on the shoulders of two guys, playing chicken fight. One girl pulled at the bikini strings of the other causing her top to fall and expose her breasts. Not seeming to mind, they continued their battle while those around the pool cheered and clapped. 

“Respectable? Really?” Venetia lifted an eyebrow and looked at her “husband” in disbelief.

“Crap intel.” He scoffed as the youths carried on with their show. “Just look at these participating trophy twats. Don’t have to worry ‘bout nothin’ but their own good time.”

She gently rested a hand on his arm. “Keep your focus on the job we have to do. Of course, we probably could’ve done this at night…”

“Where would the fun in that be then?” He downed his whiskey to wash away the bitterness while she scanned the guests once more until an outburst of clashing electronic music caused her to wince.

A short, white male dressed in black slacks and a cream collared-polo appeared from the home’s patio entryway, looked like an enraged rodent. He snapped his fingers as he clopped down several steps to the lawn towards the pool. His face wore a thin beard surrounding protruding lips that didn’t help hide his overbite. His upper lip snarled a bit as his blue eyes nearly popped out of his round head. He whizzed past them towards the pool, already out of breath.

“That _has_ to be him.”

“Yup,” Robert confirmed with chagrin.

A gold Rolex and two gold rings, one on each hand, glinted in the sun as The Mark held them both up snapping, his shouting muffled. Finally, the DJ noticed, and turned down the music.

“What the bloody hell is that racket? Can’t you see the adults are trying to have a pleasant afternoon?” His voice squealed with an accent that was almost camp, but his son paid attention none the less.

“Ugh, always a hardarse.”

The Mark moved in closer to grab his son by the ear.

“Better than a constant dumbarse! Quit fucking about and clean this mess up!” 

He snapped his fingers again before taking the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping the expelled spit, then leaned even closer to him so that only he could hear the threat, “Talk to me like that again and it’ll be your tongue I cut out.”

He let go of the son’s ear with a yank then straightened to address the pool mates. 

“Keep the music down and your tops up, for Christ's sake! Fuckin kids.”

The son rubs his ear, scowling at his father’s back, rolling his eyes before going over to talk to the DJ. The Mark scurried from the pool area to address his startled guests. 

“My apologies, friends, but what’d you expect to see? A quartet?”

Some low laughs and awkward smiles are given to him.

“Don’t be shy, drink up, eat up, and enjoy the day. Mi casa, su casa and all that.”

He slapped shoulders and shook hands of a few guests as he sauntered across the lawn. Robert moves behind Venetia as if trying to hide, but the Mark spots him. With a cheeky grin, the Mark tip toes towards them.

“He knows you,” Venetia whispered before flashing a beaming smile while jabbing an elbow backward into Robert’s ribs.

“Shanker, you old dog, what a surprise, mate,” the Mark exclaimed as he pulled Shanker from behind Venetia and into a bear hug. 

She stood still like a towering statue over the ecstatic embrace of two gnomes. Venetia quickly stepped aside from their brisk interaction and turned away to collect herself. Their cover had been unnecessary, but she couldn’t very well introduce herself as Robin Ellacott, Junior Private Investigator alongside Cormoran Strike, now infamous PI of London!

_Think!_

The Mark bellowed more laughs as Shanker grunted in his grip before he was let go, nearly throttled backward. His wandering eyes went from his old acquaintance to the woman now facing him. He took one of her hands with both of his clammy ones. 

“Blimey. This must be Alyssa I’ve heard about. She’s like a skyscraper built from peaches and cream! What’d you do to deserve this clown, eh, love? Lose a bet?”

“Not Alyssa,” Shanker started to explain but The Mark went on.

“Traded up for this one then, yeah. Can’t blame ya, mate. So what’s your name then, love?”

She bit her lower lip, hesitating. Shanker shrugged in response offering no assistance.

“Don’t be shy, I won’t bite,” the Mark assured while stroking one of his fingers across her knuckles.

“Me name’s Venetia, doin’ a bit of travelin’ tah London to hang with me long lost brutha,” she quipped in the best Scottish accent she could muster. The Mark didn’t seem fazed by her attempt.

“No shit? Didn’ know ya had a lass for a sister, mate. Holdin’ out on us,” he laid a kiss on the back of her hand. 

“Yeah, it was a bit of a shock when I found out, too,” Shanker’s lip twitched in genuine surprise and mouthed “what?” to her from behind the Mark.

“Eh’s ac’ually me half-brutha, on mum’s side, but she died before tellin’ us abou’ one anotha.”

“Well, then this is cause for an extra celebration then, yeah,” the Mark handed them a glass of champagne from the bar stand. When they all held one, he continued, “Here’s to newly found family and old acquaintances; may we be thick as thieves till the end. Cheers!”

“Cheers,” they agreed in unison before taking a sip.

“Oh, blimey,” the Mark stated. “Where are my bloody manners? Lost in all that racket earlier. The name is Tommy Knapp, a business associate and entrepreneur of sorts. What’s your business, Peaches?”

She blushed at the intimacy of such a nickname.

“Oi, meh? Ah, well, in be’ween of sorts. Pain’ed houses wit’ me otha brutha in Glasgow,” she quipped from Barclay’s bio. 

“Nothing wrong with good honest work, eh Shanks? Just don’t throw your luck in with this lot,” he advised Venetia as he wagged a finger at Shanker. “Too many close scraps for my likin’ but if the job requires it, then that’s the way it is.”

“Wha’ kinda business do ya do?” she inquired.

“Got lots of fingers in lots of pies, just depends on what the day brings. It’s just occurred to me that I could do with a personal assistant now,” Tommy winked at her.

“She’s only in town till tomorrow,” Shanker interjected.

“A lot can happen before then,” he bellowed. “You should have a proper stay, I can show you around. Know this place better than most.”

Venetia nearly spoke but Tommy went on. “Now, Shanker, what brings you ‘round? Good to see you and all, but it’s been an age and last time we parted on not so very nice terms.” 

They turned as a loud splash thudded followed by shouts and squeals from the youths again. Tommy’s eyes narrowed and his face reddened before turning back to them with annoyance. 

“You have kids?”

Venetia and Shanker shake their heads in answer.

“Don’ have them is my advice. They suck the life out of fuck all.”

“Speaking of kids,” Shanker piped up, “there’s been a bit of…a misunderstanding…with your son. Came by in a peaceful manner to see if we can’t resolve this like gentlemen.”

“Yes, I heard about that; won a car over a pool game. Unfortunately, my short-sighted offspring has an abundant ego, but no sense. Blame his mum for that.” He winked at Venetia who kept her smile in place as if agreeing with the source of blame.

“He took what didn’t belong to him, lost what didn’t belong to him. So I had to claim back my property. I figured this way it might avoid a confrontation and it’d be chalked up to a loss. But…,” he downed the rest of his champagne, “here we are.”

“I won fair and square. Just want what’s owed me and we part on good terms this time, ” Shanker implored as he stepped forward, but Tommy held up his hand firm.

“The car is not on the table. We go back a ways, so we can figure something else out.” He eyed Venetia as an option. “My son’s been dealt with, I assure you.”

“Don’t seem like it with the pool parties and topless birds. My way leaves an impression not soon forgotten,” Shanker warned, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Now brotha,” Venetia moved between the men, her back to Tommy. “Le’s nah be disrup’ive and enjoy tha day.” She then whispered, “I’ll keep him distracted while you have a look around.”

She turned back to Tommy, conjuring a shy yet flirtatious smile.

“I couldn’ help but no’ice yor garage and Shanks tells me you have qui’e the car collection.”

“Ya heard right, I do. I could show you around if your brother can spare you for a while.”

“Pretteh please?” Venetia exaggerated a pout and fluttered her eyes at Shanker, who then rolled his.

“Tha’s alright by me, just don’t go nicking anything, V,” Shanker obliged. “An’ don’t keep her too long.”

Tommy laughed and then nearly coughed when Venetia threw an arm around his shoulders, his eyes coming level with her collarbone then downward at her other hand that rested on his forearm, skimming over her ample breasts. Her blue eyes softened as she looked down into his, his mouth gaping open at her touch.

“I’m half in love with this Scottish goddess already.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he snickered. “Calm down and stay proper, ya hear?”

"Of course!" Tommy waved up a hand without looking back as he turned to escort Venetia towards the house.

“Oi, forgive meh, need a momen’,” she flashed her blues before letting Tommy go.

“Meet you on the steps in two minutes,” he winked at her and continued to the house.

Venetia exhaled out a huge breath that sent the wisps of hair around her face flying away as she stepped back towards Shanker.

“ _Shanker_ …” she paused on a gasp and shut her eyes, “… _Robert Bloody Hall_!”

He broke into a wide mischievous grin, the infamous gold tooth flashing.

“Why the fuss, Peachers?”

She growled a bit at the nickname.

“Normally, I’d use your full name but I don’t know it so I had to improvise with the bloody cover we didn’t bloody well need!”

“Do you use that technique on Bunsen?”

She didn’t answer but her cheeks blushed gave her away.

“Ha! Even when he’s pipin’ angry, I’m sure hearing his full name makes him fall at your feet. Poor sod never stands a chance.”

He chuckled as she punched his shoulder then swatted at him.

“I can see why!” he continued despite her swats. “I bet it riles him up good, too.”

“Shanker, I swear, I will incapacitate you publicly, here and now,” she warned. He tried swallowing his laugh to no avail.

“What? Don’t be mad at our biology. Just having a bit of fun.”

“Glad you are, _brother_! Enough. I’ll keep him occupied while you search around his office. Got it?”

“Sure thing, _sis_. Watch yourself," he said carefully.

She gave him one last swat before retreating to an anxiously waiting Tommy Knapp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pictured Eddie Marsan as Tommy and Timothee Chalamet as his son.
> 
> Forgive me if I wrote the accents too off. (It's just Robin being out of practice with it lol)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember Shanker's "place of work" being mentioned by name, but it's been a while since I've read the books, so I made one up.


End file.
